


Just Keeps On Turning

by TwinKats



Series: ThorKink Fills [4]
Category: Thor (Movies), X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: AU, Childfic to adulthood, Gen, M/M, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 22:48:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinKats/pseuds/TwinKats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years before the events of Thor, Loki discovers his Jotun heritage and runs away. Where to? Earth. There he meets humans with strange powers, mutants, and learns that just because he's different doesn't mean he's unloved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Loki was not sure where things had gotten to this point. It was supposed to have been yet another routine little quest (or so Thor had claimed) like the many others they’d been on since Odin _finally_ agreed to let them venture out of Asgard. Things were _fine_ , everything was going _all right_ and it looked as if in mere hours they’d return home, successful yet again.

Then Fendral had fallen, his shoulder pierced with a poisoned arrow, and disappeared into the darkness. Volstagg went next, vanishing into the night. Hogun and Sif went down (Hogun to some badly cooked food courtesy of Sif and Sif well…they didn’t know what happened there; the Princes woke to find the bedrolls empty) and all that was left of their adventuring party was just Loki and Thor.

Loki had been worried that someone was picking them off one by one, he’d tried to tell Thor this (near insisted that they run home and get _help_ , much to Thor’s ire) but the big moron wouldn’t listen. It was as the night began to descend that Loki had felt something clash against his skull. He’d had but a chance to shout a warning and then all was dark.

When he came to it was alone, shivering and curled up in a corner, staring at the near-pitch black room in fright. His breathes came out in little panicked gasps. His fingers were wrapped tightly in his hair, his eyes peering between his arms. Loki would never admit it but there was something about _cold_ and _darkness_ and _being alone_ that just led him to be terrified. In this instance it helped that he couldn’t even feel his magic bubbling beneath his skin.

The Princeling was not sure how many hours or days he’d spent, curled into a corner of a darkened cell, whimpering and terrified and cold. He did not know acutely how long he was without his magics, or when the cold (despite the terror) began to feel almost _natural_. He did not know that his eyes were an almost burning orange crimson, or that his skin was pale blue with almost tribal markings that were just barely visible under the sheen of his hair.

What he did know was that when the cell became alight with the sun he’d jolted. When Odin stood in the light, wielding sword and covered in blood, the terror waned. When Frigga burst past Odin and scooped him up into her arms, murmuring soothing words, clasping him (blue skinned and all) close to her bosom he felt _safe_. She wrapped him tight, stroked his hair, rocked him back and forth and calmed his tears and shakes and terrors.

It was only after he came back to himself, and saw Odin turning away with a dark look, that Loki’s terror became confusion. It was when Odin began to walk away, not saying a word, that Loki spoke up, worried.

“F-Father?”

The God-King paused, briefly, but did not speak, did not turn around. He just continued to walk away a second later.

That was when Loki noticed the color of his skin (now fading back to a pale pink as Frigga still held him tight) and his confusion and worry became fear and anger, and that was when Loki knew.

_He was not Loki Odinson._

* * *

Loki was a bright boy; a godling _prodigy_ as some of his tutors had once said. He was quick to grasp hidden meanings in speech, to hunt down lies and to tell them himself. He was a fast learner in almost anything he put his mind to; he got the mannerisms of court down far faster than his older brother Thor, and could practically charm the clothes off of anyone with a few sweet words.

It was, ultimately, Loki’s quick wit and keen mind and ability to put two and two together so well and so _fast_ that got him into the most trouble. There was one thing Loki often misunderstood or didn’t even quite get: social interaction. It was due to this lack of understanding (or constant misunderstanding) that got Loki into most of his mischief and trouble. Truly Loki’s countless misadventures were a byproduct of this constant ignorance.

He just didn’t get _why_ things were like this, when they would’ve been much easier like _this_ , or how the crook of a brow or a wiggle of the fingers means _isn’t she hot?_ Loki just didn’t _get it_ , not that anyone realized this. 

That is, anyone but Frigga. 

It was for this reason, this lack of natural understanding of the social nature and gestures of the others, that Loki took his heritage almost badly. Frigga knew the minute Loki put two and two together on the fact that he was adopted, and the fact that he was a Jotun runt. Frigga also knew that Loki saw his father’s distancing and silence on seeing the boy in his natural state as disgust. 

Which, if Frigga were honest, it was in part a bit of disgust on Odin’s half, but it was all aimed at Odin himself, along with the shame and the fear. Odin was disgusted with himself, as he knew Loki was not quite ready to venture into the realms of adventure (but until now he had proven to be just as good as Thor, even with an armed guard secretly following them) but he’d allowed it anyway. Odin was ashamed that he was caught in a ruse, that Loki was _not_ his son (despite how much he loved him) but merely a babe he had stolen from Laufey of Jotunheim, even if his reasons were sound. There was fear, too, because as far as Odin knew Loki had uncovered his heritage (or if he hadn’t that he would shortly) and he feared that the child would become enraged and filled with hatred. 

Frigga saw all this, and while she disapproved of how Odin proceeded to handle everything (walking away and ignoring their son, because Loki _was_ theirs), she knew that attempting to get the Allfather to see reason was practically impossible. He was a stubborn old ass and wouldn’t heed her words until much, much later. The only sad thing was that Frigga knew Loki could be just as stubborn, and unfortunately Loki had a way of twisting situations and words in his mind until they were a cruel parody of the truth. 

Frigga saw _all_ this, and thus she was not surprised to find Loki packing his bags with a few precious items, preparing to sneak off into the night. It was with a heavy heart that she stepped into the room, not to try and convince her boy otherwise, but to wish him goodluck and goodbye. She always knew that one day Loki would take off to travel, after all. He had too much an inquiring heart and mind not to. 

“Loki.” 

Her little Princeling whirled around fast, almost dropping the photograph (of _her_ surprisingly enough) in his shock. It took him a second to fall into a masked sort of calm (it wasn’t as clean as it would become in the future, Frigga knew, but it was fairly good for a boy) and soon his face was shuttered of almost every emotion. Except Frigga could read him in a way Loki couldn’t shield; a mother to her son. 

“Mother,” Loki murmured, settling his photograph down. 

“Oh, my baby,” Frigga sighed. “Don’t stop packing on my account.” His head shot right back up again, shock once more encasing his features before the mask slammed home. 

“What?" 

Frigga smiled, sadly but understanding, as she stated, “Did you think I would stop you, Loki? That I would try to force you to stay where you do not feel welcome? My son, my sweet baby boy…I am not going to stop you from leaving.” 

Loki swallowed heavily, “Why?" 

“Because I knew this day would come,” Frigga murmured, and she tugged Loki into a hug. “Your mind is curious and it wanders so; you have a distinct need to know the universe, my child. A mother knows these things. Just as I know right now you do not think Asgard is your home, that your father hates you.” She tilted his head up, staring into his green eyes. “I want you to know Loki that I understand, that as much as it pains me I will not keep you here when you feel so unwanted. Go and find your place amongst the realms, but understand that you will _always_ have a home in my house. I am your _mother_ , in every way that counts.” 

Loki swallowed again, hugged her tight, and squeezed his eyes shut. He would not cry, and as soon as he composed himself he backed up, place a kiss to her cheek, grabbed the photograph, and whispered, “Goodbye, Mother,” and was gone. 

Frigga smiled sadly. 

“Goodbye, my little God of Mischief.” 

* * *

Loki knew the secret paths of Yggdrisil, the tiny branches and hidden spiderways. He had discovered them a few years prior, and _oh_ how he loved what they could teach. Slippery hiding and little secrets no one wanted him to know. They were a blessing, a joy, _and they were all his._ He used them almost religiously to leave Asgard quite often once he’d found them. 

Unfortunately he hadn’t quite mastered using the pathways just yet. 

With little fanfare Loki had vanished from his room, sliding along the secret branches, twisting and turning. He’d thought of Jotunheim, for a brief second. Of living amongst the Jotnar, as he himself was one, but then he thought of Odin and his blood burned and boiled. His mouth lit up into a full snarl, a wide grin that was no happiness, all malice, all teeth. 

He would not head to Jotunheim. Odin would search for him there (because Odin knew he’d uncovered the truth, that he saw his natural blue skin, that he was a monster parading in Asgardian flesh) and Loki wanted to be nowhere where Odin would be. That canceled out five realms and left two. Considering _Hel_ was pretty much a no-go for any still living creature, and he wasn't about to off himself, there was truthfully only _one_ realm left where Loki could hide. 

_Midgard._

So he followed the branches past the other realms until he reached Midgard. Then he lost control (he _is_ still a teenager, or thereabouts, so whilst he was prodigious and had a larger understanding of many things, he did not quite have the finesse or control he would later in life) and tumbled and rolled and ended up face first in a snow drift. Loki surfaced with a huff of air, his skin beginning to darken to a shade of blue. His eyes narrowed in concentration. 

The blue bled back to pale pink and he sighed. He had not expected it to be _winter_ upon Midgard (and as he shivered he fought back the _terror_ that threatened to eclipse his mind, reminding himself that he was perfectly _fine_ , the cold was nothing it could not hurt nor kill him, and no he was not _abandoned_ and alone; Frigga loved him, still— _his mother_ still wanted him), his lips pulled down into a scowl and he hoisted his bag onto his back, securing the straps. With a whispered spell into his hands his clothes became something more weather appropriate. 

Then Loki nodded to himself, urged a bit of the snow to curl up into his palm, melted it until it was slush, and _breathed_ , “Show me to civilization,” and the slush darted out a path for him to take. Loki nodded once to himself again (plans coalescing through his mind, twisting and turning) and started off. There was a more relaxed upturn to his lips as he trudged in the snow. 

_Look out Midgard, here comes Loki Friggajarson._

_(it’s such a pity that for all his plans and plots, the poor little Princeling’s world still will come crashing down, because Midgard is not what he expects, and who knows if he’ll survive the continuous turn of bad luck to come?)_


	2. Chapter 2

Midgard was cold, cruel, and entirely not what Loki had expected. He’d heard tales of the realm since he was a babe of how the humans worshiped the Asgardians as Gods; how the Realm was full of infantile beings with so terribly short lifespans. That they had to be looked after, cared for, because they were just children.  
  
Loki had come to Midgard with these stories in the back of his mind but the belief that Midgard would be like any of the other seven Realms he had been to. He figured that there would be work, that there would be lodgings, that there would be trade and any number of things. He had thought the people would be kindly and lively because of their so short lives.  
  
Instead Loki was greeted with scorn, disdain because he was ‘homeless’. He was not allowed a chance to work as apparently ‘children’ weren’t allowed to work, and despite the fact that he was well over a hundred and  _not_  a child (he was a young man, dammit!) he was still denied any job. In fact if he even attempted to mention his true age he was laughed off as a looney, and using what he supposed was the human equivalent (around fourteen or so, the burgeoning Trickster thought) he was considered, but when he had not credentials or even a place of residence he was denied work.  
  
The Prince was not used to such hardship. On Asgard Loki had never wanted for anything, and even on his adventurous travels he did not lack in provisions or needs or even desires. Here on Midgard more often than not Loki found himself going hungry, lacking proper clothing, and being denied the basics of shelter. He bared the cold of the winter with a bitter grace only because his Jotun heritage made feeling the bite of winters breath instead as a lukewarm summers day.  
  
The burning need of hunger, and of currency, had led Loki to developing his trickery to actually steal. He used his way with words to con unsuspecting passerby’s out of their money, although he did this rarely. Humans were apparently rather adept at noticing when they were being robbed, or cheated, at a game. Either that or they liked accusing a tradesman of trickery at every turn, in a greedy attempt to keep their wares when it was rightfully earned away from them.  
  
Unfortunately the cold, the hunger, and the lack of basic needs was not the worst of what Midgard had to offer the runaway Prince. Loki learned of human hate, of human fear, and of bitter depths those selfsame emotions could drive a being to. Many of the homeless children (and there were far too many, Loki saw) were kicked out of their own homes for being ‘freaks’ or ‘mutants’. From the horror stories of these children not all of them were actually ‘mutants’ and not every child was kicked out to survive the wastes of winter and streets.  
  
Upon hearing these stories, of children who were murdered in cold blood, and of seeing others being beat upon by passerby’s for being ‘different’ Loki grew to love how  _good_  he had it on Asgard.  _None_  of the other Gods would have beat upon a child, or killed a child, for being different; even if the child was a  _Jotun_ , like Loki. Sure they would have been wary and fearful even, and the child may have been looked on in disgust and mistrust (because the seeds of war were still buried deep between the two races, and the memories of bloodshed and atrocities still too fresh) but this senselessness would not have been tolerated in Asgard’s halls.

This knowledge, of how  _good_  Loki had it on Asgard, did not sway the young Princes opinion on running away. While Loki longed for the warmth of what he had once viewed as home, and while he missed his mothers kindly touch, he was adamant in remaining  _away_  from (Odin's reach, Odin's rule, Odin's touch) Asgard. Seeing how the humans treated their own only seemed to strengthen his resolve. He  _would_  remain here, on Midgard, amongst these fearful little creatures with their so short lifespan. His reasoning was very simple (and it didn’t have anything to do with remaining away from Asgard, because if Loki wished that they he would’ve kipped off to one of the other realms by now; certainly _they_  would have treated him far better!) and it would probably bring him more strife in the end, but he was determined.  
  
Loki wanted to  _help_  them. He wanted to help save the countless humans who were slaughtered by their own kin out of fear. He wanted to help them be  _accepted_  despite that fear. If Asgard could do it, surely Midgard could as well?  
  


* * *

  
The year was 1966 and Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters (often nicknamed the ‘Institute’ by the children) was  _thriving_. The young paraplegic telepath could hardly believe that just four years ago he had been in Oxford with his sister, Raven, and in the belief that they were one of  _few_  gifted children that existed. That four years ago he’d met a bright young women from the CIA who wanted his help, that he’d begun finding children like himself, that he’d met  _Erik…._  
  
That four years ago, on a beach in Cuba, he had lost his ability to walk and had lost two dear people to his heart, had to erase a third’s entire memory of them, and  _finally_  was living half his dream. The other half was near impossible now, Charles knew, but it didn’t stop him from  _hoping…._  
  
Charles shook his head from the memories and wheeled his chair to the patio. Outside the children were playing, on break. He allowed a small smile to cross his face. What-if’s and could-have-been’s had no place here, in his home, in his school. He was living his dream,  _helping_  these gifted children, paving the way for a prospective peace and that was all that mattered in the end really.  
  
“It’s so beautiful,” Charles murmured, leaning against the patio railing, watching as Alex tossed a ball and Hank dived to catch it and was promptly tackled by several of the children. They scattered as the blue beast let out a playful roar and began chasing them all. Charles smiled.  
  
“Knock, knock, Professor,” Sean stated, leaning against the door with an almost smile on his face. Charles turned wheeled his chair around.  
  
“Sean,” Charles chuckled. “Can I help you?”  
  
Sean pulled himself away from the door, hands in his pockets, “You got another session with Cerebro, remember?”  
  
Charles blinked steadily for a second and then nodded his head, “Ah, yes, I had almost forgotten Sean. Thank you.”  
  
Sean just shrugged, stepped forward, motioned towards the chair and asked, “May I, Professor?”  
  
Charles smiled, laughed lightly, but acquiesced, “Go ahead, Sean.” The young man calmly darted around and behind, taking hold of the two handhelds that were regrettably (in Charles’ opinion) settled onto the back of the chair. Sean pushed Charles through the halls, towards the recently installed elevator to the basement.

The ride was silent, and it was a peaceful sort of silence. Contentment radiated through the house. It was almost fairytale or dreamlike in how  _perfect_  things seemed to be going. Charles knew that everything  _wasn’t_  perfect, and the only real reason why there was this peace right now was because Erik was still amassing his Brotherhood and didn’t feel near as strong or ready enough to launch any sort of attack.  
  
In the first few weeks of the schools founding things had been tense, the papers reporting mutant discoveries and the death of children. Charles had spent a long time searching them out, trying to  _save_  them. Every loss had felt like a failure, and they had grown and accumulated on each of the mutants in his home. Everything had been bent and broken and  _wrong_  in those days, but Charles stood strong. He had to be. Eventually he banned papers in the house, told everyone to  _ignore_  the outside, because there was nothing they could do right now. They had to shoulder past every loss, and sometimes it was better not to know there were losses. So Charles forced seclusion on his group, because they  _weren’t ready_  for the whole world, and the losses attributed there. They had to get through their tragedy (Cuba  _was_  a tragedy) before they could help others and these constant string of failures  _was not helping._  
  
It had taken several months of constant in-fighting in the group before things had settled and they had their first success, and then string of successes. There were setbacks and times when the mansion had grown somber, but they rose above all of that in the end. The tenseness of when would Erik attack had faded away as well as the bitter sorrow and sting of betrayal with time.  
  
Charles’ home had become a haven of peace, and while some days were darker for a few of the members the world seemed a bit brighter. As time passed and they got further and further away from when Cuba happened, the world began to shift and settle. Mutants got shoved into the undercurrent news wise as the years passed which certainly was a big help, Charles thought, and so while still atrocities were happening to others of their kind, they didn’t hear about it. They didn’t know about it.  
  
 _Ignorance was bliss_  as the saying goes.  
  
Charles had a wry half-grin across his face at the thought and closed his eyes. He could feel, behind him, that even with the peacefulness and normalcy of the mansion around them Sean had a trickle of curiosity. Charles’ eyebrow raised, lightly; he knew several of the older students (some now teachers, like Hank and Alex) had been curious about his constant comings and goings through Cerebro lately. He’d been pushing Hanks decided ‘limit’ for the machine (which Charles found the worry was endearing, even though it was warranted; Emma Frost  _could_  sense when he used Cerebro, after all, as he and Erik had learned back in Russia in ’62) with these twice sometimes thrice a day sessions.  
  
 _‘Go ahead and ask, Sean. I will not be mad…’_  Charles directed to the young man.  
  
Sean pursed his lips, lightly, but didn’t say anything. Charles did pick up on the boys thought, though, as it was broadcasted outward.  
  
 _‘What is it you find so interesting that you have to use Cerebro so much, Professor?’_  
  
Charles chuckled lightly.

“There is a boy,” he murmured. “My touch upon him is fleeting enough that I can never quite pinpoint where he is, and I only catch a stray thought never anything more, but what I  _feel_  from him is…well, it’s amazing. He’s only a child and yet he’s so very  _powerful_ , Sean, and there is so much…I wish to find him.”  
  
Sean blinked, “You think he might be in danger, Professor?”  
  
“No, no…” Charles shook his head. “He’s not in danger, or in any sort of trouble that I can sense. He seems a bit…lost, maybe. I want to help him.”  
  
“If you say so Professor. Just…don’t push it, okay?” Sean wheeled the chair over to the new Cerebro. “We worry sometimes, you know.”  
  
 _‘I know, Sean, and it’s very sweet of all of you. I promise not to push myself too much,’_  Charles projected lightly.  _‘Now if you’re planning on staying…’_  
  
Sean laughed, “I get it, I get it! No need to say anything else. Have  _fun_  with your little machine, Professor!” The ginger haired young man dashed off as Charles’ brow furrowed. There was some sort of hidden meaning in ‘fun’ he was sure of it.  
  
A second later his cheeks heated.  
  
“SEAN!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realized last chapter I never specified when Loki hit earth. He arrives in the state of New York in 1966, but he's not quite near Westchester right now. He's currently kind of making his way through the state, and by 1968 he'll be close to the Mansion. Right now we're kind of following the build up of that.
> 
> Yes Loki has this urge to do good right now. He's not the twisted older man, yet, and well...kid Loki in Journey Into Mystery (latest issues) seems to be trying to be the goodguy whilst playing badguy so...yeah. It looks canon? XD (he's too fucking cute) I also made Loki around 14 because, well, it seemed to fit his rather childish mindset I had given him earlier.
> 
> As for pairing wise, mostly I think I'm going to make this fill Gen? Unless the prompter has specific pairings he/she wants to see? Otherwise you'll see hints of could-have-been Charles/Erik but I won't go anywhere with it, or any other future pairings, unless the prompter wishes for pairings in the story.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy? I suppose. I'm pretty sure there was more I was gonna say, but I forget. Ma wants me to rush and get dinner.


	3. Chapter 3

Thor raced down the halls. It had been months since the initial disastrous bit of adventure that ended with the subsequent pickings off of the party members and Loki’s kidnapping. Thor had never felt so  _terrified_  when his brother had been snatched right under his very nose. Not even when Fendral had been poisoned and snatched, or when Volstagg vanished, or Hogun and Sif had disappeared.  
  
 _They_ , Thor knew, could handle themselves, being older and far more seasoned than the Princes. If they were captured it was most likely they could escape to relative safety easily. Besides all it had meant was that they were getting  _close!_  So he had brushed aside his brothers concerns and forced them to trudge on.  
  
Until Loki had been taken Thor had figured they were fine; they could handle anything that came their way. Next he knew his brother vanished, his heart had seized in fear, and for the first time in practically  _centuries_  he began to rethink his decision. Thor wanted to flee back to Asgard and plead for Odin’s help and forgiveness in losing Loki.  
  
Thor was the eldest, the stronger and bigger brother. He was supposed to look out for and protect his younger, weaker, and more vulnerable sibling. In this duty Thor had failed.  
  
Fendral had come shambling back that night, his shoulder messily bound in strips of his own clothes, fevered but still alive. The poison tipped arrow clasped in his hand. He had asked for Loki when he came back to camp, hoping for the few healing spells in the slighter Prince’s repertoire, and then for the burgeoning Trickster’s expertise on lore and legends and the lands. It was his hope that Loki could tell from whom the arrow had come, and take Fendral’s descriptions of his captors and name their peoples, or even Kingdom.  
  
Thor was ashamed to admit that Loki had been snatched, but he perked up with Fendral and felt his courage build up. Now that Fendral was present they could hunt down the kidnapping bastards and retrieve his brother!  
  
Fendral was too weak, however, and if he didn’t get medical attention might die. As Fendral so far was the only one to grace their kidnapper’s presence and escape thus far, it would be counterproductive for the young warrior to die on a mission to save Loki that would most assuredly end badly without further backup.  
  
Hogun returned next, stronger and in much better shape, but still bruised and beaten and hurt enough that any rescue mission would be foolhardy. He had little information, having not seen his captors, but having felt their hospitality he feared that Loki may not survive. He was so much weaker than the older warriors.  
  
They packed up and moved on. The next night Volstagg and Sif returned. Thor was ready to go and fight these shadowy thieves right then and there but Sif had talked him down. Volstagg was thinner than normal, extremely fevered, and swaying on his feet. His leg was bent oddly. Sif had a broken arm, Fendral was still suffering from poison, and Hogun had faired just as harsh a beating as the others, although with less apparent damage.  
  
So Thor had led them home, told his father everything, and Odin immediately grabbed a set of older warriors  _and_  his wife (Frigga had refused to remain behind; she’d said something to the affect of  _‘if you don’t take me I’ll sneak out and rescue him myself and leave Asgard to ruin’_ ) and went off to hunt and free Loki. Thor had been left with Volstagg and his wife and children and the other two of the Warriors Three and Lady Sif. That had been several months ago.  
  
Now he’d heard that his father and mother had returned, successful, with Loki. They’d been home for near a day and all Thor wanted was to see his little brother, to hold Loki close and  _apologize_  and let him know that he’d listen from now on; to  _whatever_  Loki had to say.  
  
It was with a wide smile, and a holler of “ _Brother!_ ” that Thor burst open the door to Loki’s room. He was met with silence and emptiness.

 _‘This is not right,’_  Thor thought to himself, freezing. He had been told that after Loki had been checked over by the healers (slightly malnourished, a little shaken up, definitely a bit colder than normal, but otherwise quite fine) and then taken to settle back in his room. He  _should_  have been here.  
  
Unless Loki was playing some sort of strange game again, he should have been in his room. Worriedly Thor checked everywhere. In the corners, the crack under Loki’s bed, the bathing chambers, the bookshelves,  _the books_ , but he could not find Loki anywhere. Not even in the fishtank as one of the fish.  
  
His brother was just  _gone._  
  
Well, that was okay, really. Loki always tended to vanish and then return at odd hours. Thor had found out ages ago that he liked to hide away in the gardens, a place only Frigga would ever really be, or one of the other ladies of Asgard. So Thor raced off to the gardens to talk to Loki and apologize.  
  
Loki wasn’t there.  
  
Thor checked the kitchen.  
  
Loki wasn’t there.  
  
Thor checked the library.  
  
Loki wasn’t there.  
  
Thor checked the library  _books._  
  
Loki wasn’t there.  
  
He looked under the feasting hall table, in the public bathing chambers, underneath Frigga and Odin’s bed (his mother regarded him with an amused smile at that request), he checked the potted plants, the Vault (with Frigga tagging along because no child was allowed to visit the Vault without either the King or Queen), he checked  _in_  the food, the cupboards, grilled the chef’s, the warriors, searched the study halls, and lastly his own chambers.  
  
Loki was  _nowhere._  
  
Thor began to panic. He raced off to find Odin (he was in his study) and worriedly asked, “Father did you find Loki?”  
  
Odin glanced up for the papers he was looking over (running a Kingdom surprisingly had a  _lot_  of paperwork involved) and gave Thor a small smile. “Yes, my son. Loki should be in his chambers.”  
  
Thor swallowed heavily, “Father I checked Loki’s chambers, but he was not present.”  
  
“Then he must’ve gone wandering,” Odin replied.  
  
“But I checked the gardens, and the kitchens, and the feasting hall, the bathing chambers, the bedrooms, the library, the training rooms, my chambers, the vault— _everywhere!_ Loki was in none of these places Father!”  
  
“He’ll turn up, Thor, I’m sure,” Odin rumbled.

Only Loki didn’t. Seven days passed and Loki was not seen. Odin had the guards scour Asgard, but there was no Prince. Odin scoured Asgard, but there was no Prince. Odin asked Frigga, she said she had not seen the boy. Odin asked Heimdall, he said Loki had vanished from his sight.  
  
Finally, Odin feared. Loki was  _gone._  
  
And to herself Frigga kept a hidden, secret, knowing smile and said not a word.  
  


* * *

  
After a month of the cold wintry weather of Midgard Loki had finally given up on keeping the pale, pink, Asgardian flesh; it was far too draining upon his reserves to remain as such every waking hour. Instead when he bundled himself up entirely, covered his face with a scarf, and settled ‘shades’ over his eyes. The layers did little to retain the heat that helped hold the change of form and so Loki wandered around in his  _true_  skin, for once, hidden underneath cloth.  
  
Ironically he found that with his magic released from maintaining a constant disguise (for that was what it truly was, a disguise, a second skin, the heralds of a shapeshifter) he felt strangely  _freer_  for the first time in all his life. There was something about being in his own skin that seemingly lifted a constant weight from his shoulders.  
  
It also made befriending those abandoned and homeless ‘mutant’ children all the more easier. If they could see him in his natural form, they were more inclined to trust him. Already he’d made friends with an older boy (called Scott Summers) who had to walk around with his eyes tightly shut. He didn’t talk much about why he was on the streets (and Loki didn’t press) or why he refused to open his eyes.  
  
They had met in a dirty alleyway next to a bar. Scott was curled into snow banked corner, shivering with his eyes screwed shut. Loki had been caught pick-pocketing (he swore to himself that this would be the last time— _it wasn’t_ ) and his would-be victim hadn’t taken kindly to the would-be theft. Instead he’d been dragged by the back of his jacket by two guys into the alleyway, tossed into a wall (a great feat, apparently) and then punched and kicked at.  
  
Sometime during the beating Loki’s scarf had fallen away from his face, and another had grabbed his shades. They caught sight of his blue skin and burnt orange crimson eyes and called, “Mutant! Freak! Demon!” and changed their tune from teaching a lesson to killing him. With his secret revealed and having a threat of death on his head Loki  _fought back._  
  
It was short work to beat the foolish mortals unconscious. They’d awaken in the alleyway sometime later, concussed and bleeding from knife wounds. They’d report the incident to the police, of course, but their breath would smell of alcohol and they’d sway in such a manner, and their words would be in a drunken slur that no one would pay the accusations mind.  
  
It was obvious the three fools had been drinking and gotten into a simple bar fight. Considering they were in the alleyway of a bar, where a fight had been reported, and that two of three other brawl members identified the three idiots as the ones who attempted to knife them (they were in the hospital for wounds, their third friend missing) Loki was definitely in the clear. A few hours after that a body would be found and the three morons who had attacked him charged with manslaughter.  
  
It was all very funny how things worked out, but Loki would have a strong friend and ally for the homeless mutant children in Scott Summers, who had heard the brawl, the slurs, and worried for Loki.  _Especially_  after he heard Loki was fourteen. Apparently Scott was sixteen years old and decided to take Loki under his wing.  
  
 _Never mind_  that Loki was really the older of the two (he didn’t tell Scott this, after all the reception he’d gotten when he’d mentioned is age  _before_ ) or that Scott couldn’t see and therefore really couldn’t do much but follow around like a blind puppy. It was the thought that was kind of comforting, and Loki was just pleased that he had an ally in his hope to help out other mutant homeless children.  
  
However that would work. He was still working on the details.


	4. Chapter 4

He honestly didn’t remember much about the first time, or the subsequent three times after that, except that he and Scott had to  _move_  and that he had to keep it  _from_  Scott.  
  
Loki didn’t know when exactly he had come to treasure Scott’s opinion of him, or when exactly that had become something very crucial to his mental state, but he  _had_  and he’d do practically anything to keep it untarnished. Later, when Loki had spent time studying Midgardian psychology, he’d come to realize that he greatly missed Thor and Thor’s influence on his life and that Scott somehow helped him deal with the lack of Thor.  
  
He’d never tell a living soul about that.  
  
The fourth time the  _incident_  happened Loki was fully conscious and fully aware of his own actions. He remembered it in excruciating detail that even years later he wasn’t sure  _why_ he remembered the whole thing so clearly. He’d theorize that it had something to do with what had come  _after_  the fact, when he’d returned to his and Scott’s current hideaway, that he’d remembered everything that happened and everything that he’d done. It might’ve also had something to do with the fact that  _that_  was the day he’d come to understand how utterly  _frail_  the mortals of Midgard were.  
  
They broke so fucking  _easily_  after all.  
  
The Princeling remembered that it was a supplies run for him and Scott. They needed some food and a bit more cash (pick-pocketed of course because it wasn’t  _helpless-blind-kid-con-day_  and Scott wasn’t feeling a hundred percent) and a possibly another blanket or three. Theirs were getting a bit ratty now, and despite the fact that it wasn’t wintery cold anymore (he and Scott had been homeless together for a few months now and winter had passed on into spring and into almost-but-not-quite-yet-summer) it still got fairly cool at night. Loki didn’t want Scott to get ill, which he learned happened to frequent the humans—sickness and disease, that is.  
  
Loki’s otherworldly nature kept him quite fit and healthy, despite lack of food and everything else.  
  
Still, he was off nicking supplies—food, clothing, blankets, the whole deal—and slipping them into a sort of pocket dimension with his magic—he’d explained  _that_  away as part of his ‘mutation’ to Scott when asked—when he’d come across  _it._  In all his years (five hundred and ninety-four, exactly, to be strictly honest) he’d never seen such horrible things happen. He’d  _heard_  of them, sure, as it was quite common among lesser creatures (dwarves, he’d thought, might’ve partaken in such things, and most definitely the giants—frost, fire, or plain, he’d suspected, which made him ponder the reality of nurture vs nature and which did  _he_  fit under? Nurture, he eventually figured, and thanked Frigga  _yet again_  for being such a wonderful mother to him for half a millennium) but  _humans_  weren’t exactly  _lesser_  as Loki was beginning to understand.  
  
Yet somehow they remained so  _barbaric._  It was puzzling.  
  
Later he learned that the poor thing he’d thought for dead was actually a mutant and had survived the encounter and felt greatly indebted to him. In fact  _how_  indebted was entirely disturbing in Loki’s mind and he was pretty sure that the mortal  _thing_  (yes,  _thing_ , because to think otherwise gave it gender and  _reality_  and he’d like to avoid that and live in his fantasy  _that it didn’t exist oh god_ ) was thoroughly fucked in the head, somehow.

That wasn’t to come for many a year, though, and his still childish mind would thankfully be spared the horrors of beings known as  _fans_  and  _stalkers_  and  _mentally diseased psychopathic stalkers_  for some time yet. Instead he’d just finished pick-pocketing some poor sap and was headed down a shortcut to the abandoned complex that he and Scott had claimed a floor-level room in when his eyes had beheld upon, well….  
  
Loki dared not speak it. Loki dared not  _repeat_  the atrocities upon the poor soul (twisted though it’d become) but he  _did_  remember it all in clear, crisp detail. He remembered how his vision went near-red for all of five seconds before the haze fell away to a blanket calm. He remembered walking up to the gang of five and punching the first man into the wall.  
  
His head was pulp. Humans were  _frail._  
  
Loki remembered how his Asgardian mask—the pale yet almost otherworldly skin—had bled way until he was blue. How his green eyes had become burning orange crimson. He remembered how he grinned, feral and cruel, and all the little tricks he’d used. The clones he’d summoned, the spells he’d cast, the punches and kicks and knives he’d thrown.  
  
The five were dead, the  _thing_  was (supposedly) dead, and then Loki retched and closed his eyes. He was covered in bodily fluids and blood but a quick spell and a quick jump along the branches of Yggdrasil to a river took care of that and then, silent as the grave, he’d returned to his and Scott’s latest homeless home.  
  
Scott had said, “What did you do, Loki,” as a statement the minute he’d stepped through the door.  
  
Loki had swallowed and stilled. His voice was higher as he asked with forced calm, “What do you mean, Scott?”  
  
 _It was just a supplies run.  
  
It was not just a supplies run. Tell me the truth._  
  
The words were unspoken but they hung in the air silently still. Loki could taste them, Scott could taste them. They were a silent communication brought through the tenseness from the (supposedly) younger teen to the older, sightless-by-choice teen. It was in the quickening of breathes, the shuffle of feet, the lack of the warmth that Loki purposefully summoned for Scott when he was in his blue form that bled cold like an open wound.  
  
“Loki…” Scott said slowly, softly, and he shuffled to the smaller boy with a cautiousness that had terrified Loki. “I can…tell.”  
  
“T-Tell what?” Loki asked with a slightly almost hysterical laugh that he’d cut off the instant he started. The burgeoning Trickster backed into the wall.  
  
“Just… _please_ , Loki. I…care about you,” Scott replied hesitantly. “So don’t shut me out.”  
  
Loki had shook his head, and Scott had tilted his in response. He turned slightly and shifted closer to his companion.  
  
“W-What is there to tell?” Loki laughed, lightly, and there was a slightly terrified grin on his face that Scott couldn’t see but could instead  _hear_  in the stress of Loki’s words.  
  
“What. Happened,” the words were sharp, strong, and a demand for Loki to stop the lying right there, right now. Scott was having none of the tricks. Loki in return said nothing, although to Scott his silence spoke a thousand more things than when he’d said  _anything._  
  
In return Scott had made it until he stood in front of Loki, his nose brushing Loki’s hair, and he pulled the boy into a hug.  
  
“It’s okay…” he muttered, and Loki buried his face into Scott’s neck. He was shaking, slightly. “Whatever happened, it’s okay…I won’t blame you, Loki.”  
  
“H-How can you know t-that?” Loki stuttered slightly, clinging to Scott lightly. Scott sighed and rubbed a soothing circle to Loki’s back.  
  
“We all make mistakes Loki,” the ‘elder’ said.

Loki’s breath hitched just a bit, the only sign he was about to even  _start_  telling the truth, about to start telling  _Scott_  what he’d done and what had happened.  
  
“H-Humans are f-frail,” Loki said instead. “I-I never r-really noticed h-how easily they b-break, Scott. I-I didn’t  _mean_  t-to…I j-just wanted t-to m-make them s-stop…i-it was  _wrong_  what t-they w-were d-doing it was  _wrong!_ ”  
  
“I believe you…” Scott sighed and swallowed. “I thought it might’ve been as much anyway.”  
  
“Y-You did? Y-You  _do_?” Loki pulled back, his eyes, burnt crimson orange, were bright and wide and he felt like something  _important_  was happening here and somewhere, in Scott’s own head, he felt the same. It was as if something  _important_  would be created or broken here, something  _big._  The right or wrong words could make or break whatever it was.  
  
“Yeah…I mean, I kinda guessed you’re, well, stronger or something than everyone else. Or heavier.”  
  
“ _Hey!_ ”  
  
Scott laughed lightly at the indignation in Loki’s tone. The heady feeling faded with that laugh. It drifted off into the back of their minds and neither noticed nor could tell what it was or what had happened just that Scott's words, his not-so-carefully chosen words hadn't broken whatever it was that was being born or created in this moment.  
  
“It’s  _something_ , anyway,” he said, and they both felt a bit lighter, just a bit, “and probably part of your mutation, right?”  
  
“I guess…”  
  
“You haven’t been around others much, deny it all you want Loki but I’m pretty sure you haven’t, so how could you know how strong in comparison you are? It’s just a mistake, and I don’t  _hate_  you for losing control. I mean…I can’t even open my eyes without probably killing someone so how can I  _blame you_  for not realizing how much stronger than everyone else you are?”  
  
“Scott…”  
  
“Just…how many times has this happened now, Loki?”  
  
Loki looked down. He bit his lip.  
  
“…four,” he muttered after a minute.  
  
“I thought so,” Scott sighed. “We’d…better skip town then. Hole up in the woods or something for a while again…just in case.”  
  
Loki hugged Scott again; tighter this time and more like the hugs Loki usually gave Scott. He muttered, “You’re really not upset?”  
  
There was silence for a second but Scott eventually said, “…no, I’m not.”

Scott wasn’t lying, the young Prince knew, because he could tell when someone was lying. He was the liesmith, after all, the one who was beginning to be hailed as silver-tongue and sharp witted. Scott’s hesitation came not from a lie, he had no  _reason_  to be deceitful to Loki. They may have known each other for a short few months but they had formed a rather strong bond just as quick. It was a bond of brotherhood and it was just as strong as the bond Loki shared with Thor.  
  
He realized then that he  _really_  missed Thor, but Scott was an okay approximation to the Thunder Godling. Or as okay an approximation a mortal could become, but Loki did not mind that. He had an ally, a strong and loyal friend, and someone who  _cared._  It was more than he could have asked for.  
  
It was more than enough.  
  


* * *

  
 _1967_  
  
Charles sighed as he pulled off the Cerebro helmet. He’d been trying for the better part of a year to get in contact with the young,  _brilliant_ , and powerful mind he had originally sensed and so far he’d had no luck. The child (that much he  _was_  able to tell alongside an approximate travel path) had some very strong mental shields that were both natural and unnatural to Charles’ telepathic ‘sight’.  
  
The young professor bowed his head and let out an annoyed groan. A years worth of work had led him  _nowhere_  or thereabouts when he’d  _hoped_  it’d get him somewhere. All he could tell, at any given point in time, was that the boy was  _safe_  or a close approximation of, was blindingly powerful, and was upset by the inequality of the world around him.  
  
He  _wanted_  mutants to coexist with humans, Charles could  _see_  that. The boy practically  _screamed_  that we wanted mutants to be safe and accepted but there was a darkness hidden away. A painful sorrow, a loss so strong that it could almost tear the kid apart; as much as he  _wanted_  to help the mutants he wanted even more to be what he  _isn’t_ , or so Charles felt.  
  
He wasn’t even sure if the child  _knew_  how much disgust and hatred for his own being existed deep in his heart and mind, the one place that would bleed out and let Charles  _feel_  anything of the boy that was substantial. It was like a crying beacon.  
  
The whole thing terrifyingly reminded Charles of Erik, just a bit. Thoughts of Erik of course brought thoughts of sorrow and pain and  _longing_  that Charles almost constantly struggled in containing himself, in calming himself, after these sessions with Cerebro.  
  
Erik, for the time, was lost to him and Charles  _had to accept that_  even if he really didn’t want to.  
  
“At least one thing is clear,” the telepath murmured, glancing at the helmet.  
  
The boy was heading towards New York.


	5. Chapter 5

Summer and fall came, passed, and they were back to winter again. Despite the cold and the need to hunt down blankets and create fires Scott was honestly thankful it was winter. Loki was honestly near unbearable in the summer heat and the fall warmth. It had become obvious, fairly quickly, that the younger teen was more suited for colder weather.  
  
Maybe  _that_  was why the first mutant homeless child they’d come across alive could manipulate ice. Scott certainly believed so, at least, and he was quite thankful for Loki’s apparent affinity to use fire as effectively as the other forces. It stopped him from freezing at any rate.  
  
Ironically about a week after finding Bobby (the little ice mutant) they came across another young homeless mutant boy. Unlike Bobby however John could manipulate fire. Scott had never been more thankfully for the other obviously warmth-needing child to be found.  
  
During the days Loki and one of the younger children would go out to grab some food and blankets and other necessities. On rare few days when the cold wasn’t  _too_  debilitating Scott would go out with one of the boys and they’d pull the  _helpless-homeless-blind-boy_  con that he and Loki had pretty much mastered.  
  
Under no circumstances were Bobby and John left alone together.  _Ever._  Loki and Scott had learned that the hard way. In fact John and Scott nearly ended up with hypothermia from that entire escapade seeing as they had to hide away in the forest, in the cold, to escape enraged citizens.  
  
It was as winter was beginning to wane that the group of four young mutants arrived on the outskirts of New York, none of them aware of just  _how_  things were soon going to change for them all.  
  
It all begins in a mansion in Westchester….  
  


* * *

  
  
Charles had never quite been a heavy or a light sleeper in any sense of the word. He would awaken at what was perceived the lightest touch but it was more in fact that he would awaken upon finding an unknown, unfamiliar, or an intruding mental presence. Therefore, late one night in the waning wintery month, Charles’ eyes snapped open.  
  
He didn’t alert or awaken anyone else in the mansion the minute he awoke. Instead Charles calmly pulled himself up and slid with practiced ease into his wheelchair. He’d been planning and waiting for this moment for longer than a year.  
  
The powerful mind, the powerful  _child_  was finally  _here._  
  
The Professor wheeled himself out of his room on the first floor and down the hall toward the kitchen. He could hear the faint sounds of someone rifling through cupboards and the fridge. They weren’t loud enough to alert Hank or one of the other, child feral’s Charles had since acquired in his still growing school, but they were loud enough to cover Charles’ entrance to the kitchen late at night.  
  
He had to bite back a gasp at the sight of the mutant boy. His hair was curled to a length just shy of the nape of his neck; it was inky and black almost like a starless abyss. His skin was  _blue_  and there were slightly raised patterns trailing along his forehead almost like tribal markings. His eyes were an almost glowing burnt orange crimson.  
  
If Charles had not been aware of Raven’s mind nestled away with Erik’s black hole of a presence (all due to that damnable helmet) he might have believed it was her he was seeing here, in the guise of a male counterpart. The similarities, and then seeing the child (teenager, he amended) rummaging through his kitchen  _just like Raven all those years ago_  stole Charles breath away.  
  
It took a second for Charles to regain his composure, but as soon as he did (burying the memories of Raven and Erik as best he could) he cleared his throat to catch the attention of his blue interloper. The teenager jolted from where he was bent into the fridge, whirling around and then down into a fighting stance. In his hand shimmered into existence what Charles guessed was a knife of some sort. Those burnt orange crimson eyes tracked him warily, not even losing or loosening his stance despite taking in the fact that Charles sat in a wheelchair.

“I mean you no harm,” the young Professor uttered. The teen remained silent. “My name is Charles Xavier,” he continued, calmly. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for some time, my friend.”  
  
“What do you mean?” the teenager asked warily, finger the white knife gingerly.  
  
 _What do you think?_  Charles pushed mentally, tilting his head to the side. The teen jerked back, his eyes went wide, and his hand reflexively moved to toss the white knife but he held himself back. Charles could see the restraint.  
  
 _It’s alright,_  Charles pushed.  _I didn’t mean to startle you._  
  
“I’m like you,” Charles said allowed. He noticed how the boy’s hand jerked almost reflexively at that, the narrowing of his eyes and a light twitch of his lips.  _Interesting…_ the Professor thought to himself. “A mutant,” he clarified.  
  
The teen didn’t exactly relax, but the white knife did vanish from his hand in streams of light.  
  
“I have the ability of telepathy,” Charles continued on softly. “I can read minds, talk to them…and this is the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters.”  
  
“A school for mutants,” the teenager muttered, pulling himself out of the crouched battle stance.  
  
“Yes,” Charles agreed. “A place where they can be safe, where they can learn to control their gifts, where they can be  _free_  and unafraid.” There was silence between them again and Charles licked his lips, lightly. “Would you like to tell me what you can do?”  
  
The teenager grinned, fleeting, but didn’t exactly say anything. Charles decided a different tactic.  
  
“You’re welcome here,” he said. “You can have all the food you want; we have quite enough to spare, really. You don’t have to go hungry—”  
  
“I’m not the one going hungry,” the teen said and Charles paused. “You said this is a school for mutants. You’ll accept anyone, right? You’ll help anyone?”  
  
“Yes…” Charles murmured warily.  
  
The teenager nodded and said, “I’ve got a friend who can’t control his. He can’t open his eyes without firing a concussion blast. Would you be willing to accept him into this school, despite that his mutation is truly uncontrollable?”  
  
“How do you know it’s uncontrollable?” Charles pointed out and the teenager grinned, although it wasn’t a very  _nice_  grin the Professor noted, but then Erik's grin wasn't really nice, either, and Charles absolutely loved it when Erik grinned.  
  
“Let’s just say it’s part of my gift,” he uttered.  
  
Charles sighed and ran his hand through his hair, his mind racing a mile a minute. It’d be tricky, certainly, but they could accommodate a possibly forced-blind student.  
  
“He’d be welcome here.”  
  
“What about a boy, around five, who could make and control ice? And another with fire?”  
  
Here Charles chuckled and replied, “Yes, them too. We’ve already got a young girl who can craft storms, fire and ice won’t be too big of a thing to handle.” The teenager raised an eyebrow at the mention of little Ororo and Charles almost got a wave of nostalgia flowing off the boy. He shook his head. “I’m guessing these are the ones you are getting food for?”  
  
The teenager smirked but said nothing. Once again the kitchen was set in a silent standstill until Charles sighed and wheeled around.  
  
“You’re welcome to stay here all you like, and feel free to take as much food as you need. I do hope you’ll stay, though,” the Professor uttered and then left.  
  


* * *

  
  
The morning dawn burst over the horizon and about an hour later Scott woke up. He searched around the clearing they had commandeered as theirs a few days back, on the outskirts of New York and found Loki leaning back against a tree, biting into a roll of bread.

Scott sighed, “You went stealing last night again.”  
  
Loki turned towards the taller teen. His gaze swept over Scott’s features, hardened from street-life, to the dirty rags that were wrapped tight around his head, and the dirtier rags that stood as clothing. Loki turned his head away and muttered, “Yeah, so?”  
  
Scott sat down in the leaves and still slightly wet dirt beside his dark haired companion. He stretched just a bit, moving around until he was remotely comfortable. “I wish you wouldn’t,” he said.  
  
“If I didn’t we wouldn’t have enough food to keep you all from getting sick,” Loki pointed out.  
  
“Yeah but I worry I’ll wake up to find out you somehow got yourself killed,” Scott stated and Loki smiled, slightly.  
  
“Didn’t knew you cared, Scotty,” he said almost laughingly. He handed the taller teen a roll which Scott accepted. They both ate in silence. Loki ended up curling close to Scott after a while, his eyes drifting closed. His nightly excursion took quite a lot out of him this time.  
  
“I’ll always care, Loki,” Scott told him softly. His head was tilted down towards Loki’s approximate location. A few feet away Bobby and John were starting to wake up.  
  
“You don’t know that, Scott,” Loki muttered. His shut his eyes and sighed. “You really don’t know that.” Scott frowned and stroked Loki’s hair lightly. He disagreed with that sentiment. It was really hard for him to imagine not ever caring about Loki, and so he knew Loki was wrong. He’d always care and always worry about the little brat he met in some dirty alleyway.  
  
“I disagree,” Scott muttered and tightened his grip for a moment. Loki laughed lightly.  
  
“Sure, whatever…” the teenager muttered. They lapsed into silence, both listening to the sounds of Bobby and John finally getting up and noticing the food. “I found us a new place to stay,” the blue-skinned teen muttered tiredly.  
  
“Yeah?” Scott asked.  
  
“It’s very…promising. Got heat and water and everything.”  
  
“That’s good.”  
  
“Wake me in a few hours and I’ll show you, m’kay?”  
  
“Alright.”  
  
Loki drifted off and Scott smiled. A few hours later, after dealing with the rambunctious five year old Bobby and John, Loki woke up and they packed everything away, storing it with Loki and his ‘magic hands’ as the younger kids said. Then, with each teen holding onto one child’s hand, they started off walking towards this new place Loki found.  
  
About an hour later Scott heard sounds of children laughing and frowned, lightly. He muttered, “Loki?” but Loki just reached over and squeezed his hand.  
  
“Trust me,” he muttered back.  
  
“With my life,” Scott replied strongly.  
  
Together their little homeless ragtag group walked up to the front doors of a rather large mansion. Both the kids and Scott fidgeting ever so slightly with Bobby or John muttering about how  _cool_  this place was and Loki whispering what everything looked like into Scott’s ear. Then the door opened and there was a squeak of wheels and then a warm, comforting voice spoke not  _out loud_  but  _in their minds.  
  
Welcome to Xavier’s School for Gifted Children, young ones. I’m Professor Charles Xavier, a telepath. You can call me Charles, but most of the kids call me Professor or Professor X._  
  
Beside him Loki tensed, just slightly, and in return Scott squeezed Loki’s hand back in silent comfort.  _It was okay,_  that hand squeeze said.  _I told you. I trust you with my life._ There was a moment of pure silence, where nothing happened, and then Loki squeezed back:  
  
 _Me too._


	6. Chapter 6

Charles’ welcoming of his four new students is warm and kind and something the little five year old Bobby and John definitely needed after a life on the streets, no matter how short. Scott and Loki take the greeting in a sort of stride, Loki moreso than Scott who takes the greeting with slightly more than a healthy dose of skepticism. The man was a  _telepath_  and that could mean all sorts of not-good things if one were to go by fiction, and Scott out of  _all_  of them had a healthy understanding of fiction.  
  
Of course he didn’t know that through his closeness to Loki he had protections against such things, nor that Charles would never  _ever_  utilize his gifts in such a manner unless circumstances were very dire or he had permission of the person. Since he had no knowledge of either of those facts the skepticism remained in its rather large quantity, only tampered slightly by the fact that Scott trusted Loki.  
  
The first order of business that Charles had felt needed seeing to was apparently get his four new students settled, and then to move onto other matters such as names, ages, previous schooling, and other details. So without much prompting the wheelchair clad mutant offered to let them settle in first.  
  
“Would you prefer rooms to your own?” Charles asked lightly. “I assure you the manor has plenty of room, we hardly have any students right now. You can take any of the three floors if you’d like—”  
  
“We’d prefer to be together, Professor, if its all the same to you,” Scott interrupted, calmly, tightening his hold on Loki’s hand. John curled to his right and Bobby in-between him and Loki were both muttering and exclaiming their awe for everything with wide, wide eyes.  
  
Charles himself observed everything, how Loki almost deferred to Scott who was obviously the leader of this little quad, but murmured his agreement. If he thought about it there was one room with enough space for the foursome on the second floor.  
  
“Very well, if you’ll follow me?” Charles said, lightly, and began to wheel over to the second and newly installed elevator that lead to the upper floors. Two of his fingers rested lightly at his forehead as he mentally called to Sean and Hank about their new students.  
  
Loki frowned lightly, but tugged Scott forwards and explained everything he could see and where they were moving and towards  _what_  (as far as he could tell, having a distinct lack of understanding of Midgardian inventions) they were moving. After a second Scott snorted and said, “You mean an elevator, Loki?”  
  
“Is that what the strange metal box is?” Loki blinked, pulling away slightly to stare into Scott’s face with abject curiosity. “What does it elevate? How does it work? Why is it in the form of a giant metal box? Why do you need one?”

The questions came quite rapidly and Scott’s shoulders shook with mirth, a chuckle escaping. Both Bobby and John were outright gaping in shock. The two little boys tugging and crying out, “You don’t know what an elevator is? How can you not know what an elevator is, Loki?!”  
  
“Well I’ve never seen one before!” Loki protested. “So how could I know what one is?”  
  
“But  _everyone_  knows!” the boys cried.  
  
“But I am not everyone, am I?” the teenager pointed out, posed as a question. This caused Scott to laugh all the more while just ahead of them Charles was blinking in pure surprise at the genuine lack of knowledge of what a simple  _elevator_  was. There was apparently quite more to the little blue skinned teenager than he’d first realized.  
  
And there were many surprises still yet to come….  
  


* * *

  
  
The House of Odin had not had an easy near two years since Loki’s disappearance. In fact after the first week wherein Loki was uncovered having entirely disappeared things went a little crazy and considering this was  _Asgard_  and their  _King_ , well, that is definitely saying something. See at first Odin feared that Laufey had heard about Loki’s apparent heritage somehow, either from a guard or one of the warriors Odin took with him who for some unfathomable reason turned traitor, or from Loki’s former captives, and had found some way to sneak into Asgard and steal the second Prince in the dead of night.  
  
He had his fits of fancy just as anyone, and things happening in the dead of night made any tale that much more thrilling, so of  _course_  Odin figured it was the dead of night, nevermind that Loki had gone missing about midday, nor that Laufey or any contingency of Frost Giants could have hidden and snuck into Asgard in the middle of the day and  _not_ have been seen. They’d stick out like a rather sore and abused thumb,  _especially_  since the majority didn’t have Loki’s many, many talents in magic and trickery!  
  
Those that did could never quite compare to the little Godling of Odin’s House.  
  
So, armed to the teeth a month later Odin stole away into the realm of Jotunheim and demanded the return of his son Loki. He was met with what he supposed counted as a confused Laufey (it was ever so hard to tell with that man) and ended up retreating in embarrassment. Further scouring with scouts upon Jotunheim’s shores (which involved explaining to Laufey an entirely fake story about Loki’s preferences to snow, because Loki honestly didn’t  _like_  the cold and the snows of Jotunheim were the coldest) proved that there was no sign of Loki having ever stepped  _foot_  into the cold wastes.  
  
This left Odin pondering his many enemies gained through years of pillaging and warmongering to go through. All around it took him close to a year to come to the conclusion that Loki was not stolen but that he had, in fact, run away. Truthfully the All-Father could not quite understand  _why_  Loki would wish to run away. At least until Frigga had mentioned in passing that  _maybe_  Loki took it the wrong way when Odin refused to so much as even  _look_  at the boy in his Jotun-skin after he’d been captured for three months in the cold and dark with no food.  
  
This followed the longest and largest look Odin took into his own behavior in many thousands of years. The  _last time_  Odin had looked back on himself had been the turning point in the war with Jotunheim, about a thousand years before Thor’s birth which had taken place six hundred ninety-four years ago as of the Midgardian calendar date of nineteen sixty-six. Even then Odin had only took in his own behavior for all of one week.  
  
This time he recounted everything for a whole  _year_ , which admittedly by Asgardian standards wasn't that long at all. Needless to say Odin, who prided himself on being just about two shades shy of a murdered asshole on a  _good day_  was rather surprised at how poorly he’d been handing Loki since he’d first brought the little jotun runt into Asgard. Silently he promised to himself that he’d be a much better parent to the Jotun-born Aesir (for Loki  _had_  earned the title of Aesir, Odin knew, and it wasn’t just because he’d adopted the mischievous brat) once he’d found the kid.

Of course a year later Frigga decided enough was enough and called off all search parties without the All-Father’s consent, sat Odin down, and told him that Asgard was now _suffering_  because the man couldn’t get his one eye out of his ass and realize he still had a goddamn kingdom to run.  
  
Yes Loki ran away, she said,  _yes_  it was  _your fault_ , she told him, and  _yes_  I can see you are quite contrite over this whole matter  _but why don’t you use your goddamn head for once and realize that this isn’t helping matters at all?_  
  
Of course in this whole matter one must wonder where is Thor? Well quite simply Thor decided to take the absence of Loki and turn it into an unbridled hatred of Jotunheim, because that was the first place Odin had thought to where Loki would have been stolen. If it were possible that the Jotnar  _could_  learn something so important and secretive about Thor’s own brother that  _not even Thor was allowed to know_  that they’d  _steal_  Loki for it, then the monsters deserved none of his pity or his caring.  
  
And, incidentally, since Odin not once realized he was neglecting Thor, nor that his secretive nature on several things had brought this change in his first born about, this was the starting point of a rather time twisting turn that the future would take some forty-three years later on the day Thor would be crowned King.  
  
Nor would Odin realize that on that day Laufey’s third son Helbindi would take a small contingent of Jotnar into Asgard with his father’s blessing. Let alone that Helbindi would have found the little used and little traversed hidden pathways that Loki knew and understood so well, nor that the third son would know how to use magics almost as skillfully as Loki himself, that this attempted act of war (although secret and failed) would result in Thor’s true rather murderous intent for the Jotnar (intent that he’d voice quite loudly in the coming forty-three years but that Odin never quite listened to) or just how far Thor would go into disobeying his own father and  _still King’s_  command.  
  
Frigga knew, Frigga  _saw_  and Frigga smiled secretly for despite everything and all the mishaps and mistakes that were to come, despite how things would turn out (Thor banished and Odin on the verge of collapsing into Sleep and leaving Asgard rulerless) in the end everything would be  _righted._  Loki would be unearthed, Thor would find his brother,  _and_  she’d have several grandchildren. Finally.  
  
Let no one doubt that Frigga knew exactly how to twist her threads upon her loom into her own favor, nor that she even  _could_  let alone  _would_  and  _did_.  
  
(although if she ever were confronted Frigga would quite calmly point out how the outcome wasn’t just in her favor, but in the favor of  _all_  of Asgard and yes, even Midgard; she just got quite a boon from it, is all)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O here's the next chapter. Yeah. Anyone wish to learn how I figure Asgardian's age? I'll share with you my entire thought process here below.
> 
> On a completely unrelated note anyone here following the X-Men Schism? Because I just wanna say this: I wanna punch Scott in the fucking BALLS, maybe even rip them off. Seriously I'm starting to absolutely LOATHE his character. He's turned into a worse asshole than Magneto! Really, even when Magneto was fucking insane and was crucifying Charles I never quite felt this rage as I do towards Scott in Schism.
> 
> This equals all parts sad because I'm terrified it might effect how I make Scott in this story. Granted I also kinda thought Scott in the X-Trilogy movies as a pit of a, for lack of a better term, pussy. But that's not my fault, I swear! Here's to hoping I can keep him as an awesome badass and not someone I wish to murder in a very painful and eviscerating way.
> 
> Asgardian Aging Math:
> 
> First Six Years Age 1 year every 50 years
> 
> ~~For every year until twenty age~~
> 
> 296+300 = 596 = 14  
> 37 * 8  
>  ~~333+300 = 633 = 15~~
> 
> ~~Loki now = 596 (year 68) 2005 = 15~~
> 
> ~~Five year rapid hormone age of 1 year per year until 20 by 2010. Aging slows back down again there. Almost permanently. Heavy use of glamours to appear older until 2005 (?)~~
> 
> ~~NO~~
> 
> Age 1 year every 37 years for eight years until about 14. Aging speeds again.
> 
> 43 year span until Loki should be about 25 (say 24 and Thor = 26)
> 
> 25-8=17-6=11 11 years aging needs to happen in 43 years....
> 
> every 3.5 years age 1 year for 11 years
> 
> this is rapid growth due to hormones.... (maybe? possibly?)
> 
> Thor = 2 years older equivilant to Loki therefore Thor = 100 years aged older than Loki
> 
> So 596 = 14 for Loki AND Thor (Jotun aging process similar or aging process caused by golden Apple of Idunn?) and Thor = 2 years physically older...impossibility
> 
> in 68 Thor = 596 + 3.5 + 3.5 = 603
> 
> By time Thor was 6 Loki would be equivilant of 4, by time Thor was 596 Loki would be equivilant of 496. Thor = 100 years older than Loki. Therefore Thor is technically already in his 20's by the time Loki is a teenager.
> 
> Comparison equals that Thor acts younger than his phsyical age. Conclusion: Thor's a fucking moron.
> 
> 4.5 year interrum between 25 years of age. Next year of age?
> 
> Hmm, must slow fucking down....Thor = 703 by time Loki is 603 (aka 25) lets say aging process slows until first thousand years of age equalling 30....
> 
> 603-1000 = 397 - 603+395=998 = 30
> 
> 1 year every 79 years thereafter until 30; any aging after that point is fucking MOOT - as in I really don't care
> 
> 27 in 761 years
> 
> 603+4=607  
> Thor 707 = 26
> 
> Thor is 26 Loki is 25 in 2011
> 
> Conclusion: Thor is still a fucking moron and Asgardian aging is fucking NUTS possibly caused by Golden Apple of Idunn because IDEK anymore!
> 
> As a note in 1966 Loki was 594 years of age old. He says originally he thinks he's around 14 years, but he's actually at the tale end of being 13. Two years off out of a 37 years aging period for one year isn't that bad. Essentially when he equated himself to 14 he was almost 14 years old.
> 
> At this time Thor would be 694 years of age old. In other words Thor is 25 years old. See how confusing this gets? He starts off 2 years older, but once Thor hits equivilant of age 6 things go to fucking HELL in comparison to Loki therefore its just easier to say that they're 100 years apart.
> 
> I spent about three hours figuring this all out. I went through three different aging patterns before I decided on this one because it fit the criteria I was aiming for best. Therefore my conclusive evidence is I fucking hate math and Thor is a fucking moron.
> 
> (I am SO not looking forward to Math this upcoming quarter for college fucking probabilities and statistics!)
> 
> Excuse me, correction: Thor is 26 when Loki is 14. See? Way too fucking confusing for 12:20 AM and LJ WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING QUANTUM FOR?! I don't even wanna CONTEMPLATE that right now!


	7. Chapter 7

Charles hadn’t quite realized it then, when he’d accepted Bobby, John, Scott, and Loki as students, but life at his mansion turned school in Westchester became  _that much more_ interesting. Oh he knew things would change the minute he saw Loki face to face. At the time he just didn’t realize  _how much_  things would change.  
  
That day he had just taken the foursome up in the elevator, listening as Scott tried to explain his limited knowledge on how the contraptions worked—limited because he was no elevator technician and some of Loki’s questions got very technical—and he couldn’t help but smile. Loki was inquisitive, and he already knew from his limited ability to search the boy out that he wanted mutant equality just as much as Charles.  
  
As he led them down the hall the foursome went back to explaining the décor and layout of the building to Scott, the poor child who was forced into a world of darkness due to his mutation, if Loki was correct. It lightened Charles heart at how close they appeared, two five year old boys who acted as a mixture of twins and then rivals all at once, and two teenagers who were as close as brothers—possibly more, but Charles wasn’t one to pry and it was most likely he was misreading some of the body language he was seeing.  
  
Erik had always been the one for reading body language as Charles had never needed to understand what a subtle nuance in movement could mean. The mind was always open to him in some form, and he trusted what he saw  _there_  more than what his own eyes could see. The Professor sighed as he often did when thoughts of Erik penetrated past his little mental box. Hastily he had pushed them back and motioned towards a door.  
  
He told the children, “If you decide to stay with us this can be your room.” Almost instantly Bobby and John raced toward the door and yanked it open and darted inside. There was a distinct lack of beds and other furniture and Loki glanced at Charles out of the corner of his eye and commented on it, questioningly.  
  
“I’ll have some beds and other furniture brought in from one of the other rooms later,” Charles stated and the teenager gave a nod of his head.  
  
Loki had turned towards Bobby and John and said, “Do you want your stuff now or after the Professor has beds and desks moved in?”  
  
“Now, now!” the little boys crowed and Loki’s lips curled up slightly into a sort of half-smirk. Beside him Scott laughed, lightly, and Charles saw Loki’s gift in action for the second time ever, only this in a much more passive manner.  
  
There was a nimble twist of his fingers and of his hands and in the center, contained in some sort of slightly sparking field, there almost  _grew_  toys and clothing and other items. It was obvious that they were a mixture of stolen and purchase goods as the boys had lived on the streets without any real money or way to care for themselves. Bobby and John each raced and grabbed the things that were theirs, and then raced to opposite edges of the rooms and began placing them where they wanted their furniture to go.  
  
The field around the items shrunk and dissipated as each item left the field until it was completely gone and everything was where the boys wanted it. Loki lowered his hands and Scott clasped fingers again, giving the teen another reassuring squeeze and saying, “I’ll wait until there’s furniture.”  
  
They then moved on with a tour, Loki and Bobby explaining the directions to the kitchen and Scott running his fingers along the walls to help memorize the paths and how things are ordered. Charles led them all around the mansion, explaining things and taking the elevator and telling them that they had all the classes of a normal school from elementary to high school, and then some different classes geared specifically towards mutant and mutant kind and how to use their gifts.  
  
“Lastly, and we do this for every student,” Charles stated, “you need to have a medical exam and tell us a bit about yourself that we can use to register you for the school. It won’t take long, I assure you, and after that I’d like to get to know each of you and just what you can do. Sound good?”

Unnoticed to Charles gaze Loki had stiffened at the words ‘medical exam’ and Scott had to squeeze the teenagers fingers tightly in a reassuring matter. As the apparent unspoken leader the older boy voiced agreement and vocally ushered Bobby and John after the Professor down towards the medical labs where they were sat upon an examination table.  
  
Bobby and John voiced awe over the giant blue teddy bear man with childish glee and Loki blinked twice while Scott just tilted his head and said, “Teddy bear man?”  
  
Hank rumbled lightly and introduced himself as he helped Bobby up onto the table.  
  
“I’m Doctor Hank McCoy, or Beast. I must say ‘blue teddy bear man’ is definitely not something I’ve been called yet, but its rather better than Beast!” the five year olds cheered. “I’ll be doing all your examinations and medical paperwork.”  
  
“You’ll be our Doctor,” Bobby said cheerfully and Hank nodded. He calmly got Bobby and then John through a rather standard medical examination, taking a few vials of blood to test for any possible diseases, and then giving both boys a lollipop. Throughout the five year olds back to back exam Loki very hesitantly removed his fingers from Scott’s grip and then as the boys hopped down and curled up next to Scott, yawning slightly, Loki stepped forward.  
  
“May I…touch?” the little Trickster asked, reaching a hand out to the fur of Hank’s form. His burnt orange crimson gaze radiated curiosity; he’d never quite seen something like Hank before in any of the Nine Realms.  
  
The Beast nodded his head, his golden gaze steady on Loki’s own blue form, eyelids shuddering lightly in brief shock. He looked so much like a male Raven it wasn’t shocking. Loki curled his blue fingers into the fur of Hank’s arm and made a slightly shocked noise in the back of his throat.  
  
“Soft…” the teenager muttered, rather surprised.  
  
“And you are quite cold,” Hank replied and Loki jerked back, his eyes widening. “No, no, it’s okay,” Hank quickly backtracked. “I was just surprised. Is that normal?”  
  
Loki scooted back towards Scott and glanced up at the taller teen. Scott lightly shoved Loki forward again, a slight smile encouraging smile at his lips. Almost instantly Loki’s body tugged into a slightly almost  _regal_  posture for all of five seconds before slumping back into the lazy shape of a teenage boy.  
  
“Kind of,” he said with a shrug. “I can choose just how much heat I wish my body to emit.”  
  
“Meaning?” Hank asked as Loki hopped onto the examination table with another encouraging smile from Scott.  
  
“Meaning if I wanted to I could make myself cold enough to give you frostbite,” Loki bit out, sharply. Hank stumbled slightly and Charles’ head jerked over towards Loki in surprise. The entire group of children and adults were silent.  
  
Then Bobby spoke up, sleepily, “Yeah an’ I can turn inta iceman and make ya all go brrrrr.”  
  
Loki’s lips twitched slightly into a very small smile as Scott ruffled Bobby’s hair, much to the boy’s sleepy protest, and said, “Yes you can little man.”  
  
They went on with the exam.  
  


* * *

  
Charles, Loki, and Scott all convened after the examinations with two very sleepy five year old boys in Charles study. The boys curled up against their prospective ‘favorite’ big brothers (Bobby against Loki and John against Scott) and the Professor pulled out a few stack of papers and a pen and then began asking as few questions as possible in very soft tones.

“This is just the registration process,” Charles stated. “All I need are your names, ages and previous schooling experience as well as anything else these forms require.” He shot the forms an almost nasty look, his face pulled into a grimace. “Unfortunately by law I’m required to have these filled out and on record, considering that I  _am_  an institution and people  _are_  learning here.”  
  
Scott voiced his understanding and then turned towards where Loki approximately was. The blue skinned teen sighed in understanding as he carded his fingers through Bobby’s hair.  
  
“Robert Drake,” Loki spoke up calmly, although his gaze was sharp and frosty. “Five years old, born December 14th, 1962. He was beaten and later abandoned by his parents when he displayed his abilities.”  
  
Charles sighed and closed his eyes at the obviously sad fate of the little boy, although he murmured, “How do you know this?”  
  
“It’s part of my gift,” Loki stated, this time just a bit frostily. “I…simply look? I’m not sure how to explain it properly to you. Suffice to say I just know.”  
  
It was the best Loki could use to explain how he’d cast a spell meant to scry through the past in the early hours of the morning after he’d returned to their camp. The minute he had decided he’d take Scott and Bobby and John here he knew he’d have to unearth all that he could for the little boys education. Schooling was practically universal in these matters.  
  
It also helped to make sure that Charles Xavier knew not to go looking into these little boys’ pasts, or their families. In Loki’s mind those families gave them up when they abandoned them just because of their unique gifts. They didn’t  _deserve_  them.  
  
“Saint John Allerdyce,” Loki continued lightly, motioning towards John in Scott’s lap. “Age five, born June 18th, 1962. His parents literally abandoned him at the airport after he showed his gift on accident. ‘Let the streets take him’ were the words of his mother.”  
  
Charles grimaced.  
  
“Scott Summers,” Scott spoke up and Charles jerked his head upright. “Sixteen—”  
  
“Excuse me,” the Professor interrupted. “Did you say Summers?”  
  
Scott frowned, lightly, “Yes? Why?”  
  
“Do you…” Charles wet his lips, “do you have an older brother named Alex?”  
  
Scott froze for a second; his fingers tightened around the chair as he asked, voice tight, “How do you know that?”  
  
“Alex Summers was one of my first students,” Charles said slowly. “He helps teach here now, and is the one that gave Hank the nickname ‘Beast’.”  
  
Scott swallowed heavily and asked, “He’s…”  
  
“Alex is a mutant,” Charles agreed. Scott bowed his head lightly and from beside him Loki frowned and reached out, to offer comfort. Scott jerked his hand away and bit his lip. “If you like I could ask him to come—”  
  
“No,” Scott’s head snapped up, he grit his teeth. Charles furrowed his brow.  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
“I said no,” Scott near growled out. “I want  _nothing_  to do with Alex.  _Nothing._  Do not  _ever_  mention him to me again, do not  _tell him_  that I am here. If you can’t do that, then I’m leaving.”  
  
The room was silent for a minute before Charles acquiesced, softly, “Very well.” The tension bled out of Scott’s frame and he grasped Loki’s hand.  
  
“I’m sixteen years old, born May 5th, 1951. My parents died in a plane crash that I survived, which, if Loki is to be believed, also caused my inability to turn off the concussive blast from my eyes.”  
  
Charles murmured his understanding and then glanced towards Loki. Loki swallowed and closed his eyes and said, quietly, “Loki Friggajarson. I’m five hundred and ninety six years old as of today.”  
  
Charles dropped his pen.


	8. Chapter 8

Life moved on.  
  
It was a fundamental of  _everything._  No matter what shit comes a person’s way, no matter what tomfoolery or come-fuckery that happened,  _life moved on dammit._  Life didn’t  _care_ about a person or their woes or their mistakes and errors and screw ups and fears. It didn’t care, it didn’t bother, it just moved.  
  
The Earth turned and rotated as it always did. The sun rose, set, and the moon arrived high in the sky. It was all very simple, all so very  _normal_ , and no expectations or thoughts or realizations would deny that one universal truth.  _Life went and moved on._  
  
So, upon Asgard in the throes of having lost one Prince to stupidity (wherein several “universal truths” could be used to explain just  _why_  it all went to shit and why Loki’s running away really was inevitable, and why despite still having one eye and a brain Odin appeared blind  _and_  dumb) life remained in that simple constant in that it moved on. Yes there were tensions rising ever more so because of Odin’s belief that someone  _had_  to have stolen Loki  _because there was no way his precious son would have run away because the All-Father was not that horrible of a parent._  Yes Asgard seemed oddly quiet and disturbing thanks to the lack of a certain Trickster, and yes many Aesir and Asgardian’s were keenly feeling the loss of mischief but really. Shit happens. Life moves on.  
  
Whilst on Midgard, in Xavier’s School, Loki blossomed and flourished of a sort. His intellect quickly gave rise, surprising Charles and all his teachers. His mischief was apparent even from day one when he’d first pulled the prank of his age over Charles’ head. It livened the school up in a way Charles had not realized the school itself had needed until Loki appeared and gave them cheer and pranks and a bunch of chaos.  
  
Yet at the same time everything oddly remained  _the same._  There was no sudden epiphany’s in the issues with Erik, there was no confrontation between the two brothers Scott and Alex—in fact Alex remained completely unaware that Scott was in the school although Loki might have something to do with that—not that Charles could prove anything. Humans hadn’t suddenly and miraculously accepted mutants, there wasn’t a mass mutant exodus or discovery or  _anything._  
  
Soon one year turned into two and two into three and three into five, eight,  _ten_ …and then the oddities began to pile up, slowly but surely. Bobby and John were now about the age of fifteen. Scott was almost twenty-six, and Loki  _should_  have been twenty-four.  
  
He looked almost  _seventeen._  That was the first marker.  
  
The next was that Loki was scarily smart. This was a given back when he’d first arrived at Xavier’s, Charles knew. The boy blew through every test they had, he was much smarter than anyone in high school level and he ended up with tutoring from both Charles and Hank in college level classes. His knowledge base they learned was  _more_  than that. He understood things even  _they_  couldn’t.  
  
Charles was beginning to realize ten years later that Loki just—just dumbed himself down a little (or a lot) in how he explained or talked about things with Charles and Hank. The more he supposedly ‘learned’ the more Charles and Hank uncovered new technologies or sciences that the world  _really_  wasn’t ready for yet.  
  
In this way, in ten years, Xavier’s School became essentially  _years_  ahead of everyone else technologically, scientifically—they  _advanced_  and then hid the fact that they advanced. And as they advanced  _more_  they began to realize it wasn’t them uncovering new things with Loki’s unique perspective, but more someone was teaching  _them_  new things in a rather unconventional manner.

Simplified: Loki was  _insanely fucking smart_  for his age and he alone could advance Earth’s technology by a few decades or  _more._  It was like living with a child version of Howard Stark—or a slightly more mature version of young five year old genius Anthony Stark—and yes Charles did know of the Stark’s and Stark Industries. He had previous dealings with Howard.  
  
You never quite realize how awkward it is to place two womanizers in the same room, especially if one mostly womanizes whilst trying to avoid projecting thoughts about a certain young genius’ ass let alone confusion as to  _why_  the guy was so damn  _attractive. Fuck_  that was embarrassing.  
  
Charles still wasn’t sure  _how_  they ended up at the hotel together or what happened that night. He rather doesn’t want to know. He is sure however that if he had never met Howard Stark he probably would’ve been outright  _terrified_  of the thoughts and rather southward direction his mind went concerning Erik. Or the morning ritual he had to fastidiously take care of before some teenager burst into his room.  
  
Sometimes being a telepath was very,  _very,_  annoying. Charles was certain he had too many contrived ‘kinks’ thanks to accidental wet-dream-walking as a teenager.  
  
Still Loki could give Howard, engineering genius and philanthropist, a run for his money in knowledge. In fact Loki could very well have a promising career there, if he ever grew out of looking like a teenager when legally being twenty-four.  
  
Charles was beginning to doubt his legal-voting-age charges’ claims of age. The cincher was something Hank had uncovered in the child’s blood/DNA/whatever Hank did with a microscope that Charles couldn’t quite understand.  
  
Hey, he may have a doctorate in  _genetics_  and therefore have been a geneticist, but that didn’t mean that he automatically understood or  _could even uncover_  the things Hank could. The now blue-furred man was a freaking  _beast_  concerning science. It was sometimes scary.  
  
(secretly Charles was beginning to wonder if he was going slightly mad in his age—here he was, now forty-two, worrying about his hair falling out—because there should  _not_  be that much hair in the drain of his shower he was certain—and feeling like  _he_  is the child in comparative knowledge with a lad not-quite  _half_  his age, and another in his mid-thirties who looks like a giant blue growly-beast-thing— _crap_  he wasn’t going senile was he—he should ask Hank just in case— _no, no, Charles you are not senile calm down_ —ahh, Erik’s voice, the voice of reason….)  
  
And still life moved on. Sort of.  
  
(was he  _really_  sure he wasn’t going senile and imagining things— _yes, yes he was now totter off back to your own damned mind Charles and for god’s sake let me sleep!_ )  
  


* * *

  
Erik Lehnsherr, commonly known as Magneto and a bit of a silent terrorist (he hadn’t attempted to subjugate the humans yet thanks to an errant dream-walking powerful telepath _who kept interrupting his sleep with inane babble_ ) groaned and drowned another glass of brandy. Raven stood in the doorway, naked and blue with a slight understanding grimace on her face.  
  
“What was it this time?” she asked as she gracefully (always gracefully, Erik thought contemptuously, why couldn’t  _he_  be that graceful— _but Erik is graceful, the way he controls metal and bends it to his will, how he moves in such a refined way, and the curvature of his—dammit Charles get the hell out of my goddamned head!_ ) and then smirked and added, “He’s still there isn’t he.”  
  
Erik muttered curses in German under his breath in response, poured himself another glass of brandy, and shucked it back. Raven laughed lightly.  
  
“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“ _Mein Gott_  I swear Charles is going to turn me into an insomniac at this rate,” Erik muttered. “Him and his  _verdammt_  unconscious dream walking. Hah, dream walking my _meinen arsch_ , more like dream  _invasion._ ”  
  
“That still doesn’t tell me which it was  _this_  time,” Raven pointed out. Erik snorted, poured himself yet another glass, and shucked it back. Raven took the brandy away in response.  
  
“Which  _gottverdammten_  one was it for you?” he mumbled bitterly. Raven’s lips quirked.  
  
“Bobby and John blowing up the mansion in a fit of pique with Loki laughing maniacally in the background and Scott and Alex attempting to murder one another. Oh, and you decided to ‘whisk him away from all this madness to live out the rest of your lives on a beach in seclusion somewhere’ I think.”  
  
Erik groaned and buried his head in his arms on his knees. He mumbled a, “ _Scheiße_ , maybe I should…” the rest trailed off into an incoherent mess of german words concluding ‘damn you’ ‘fucking telepath’ and other curses and phrases all concerning Charles and his ‘goddamn ability to fall into others goddamn  _dreams_ ’ or so Raven approximated.  
  
It’s been sixteen years; she was bound to learn  _something._  
  
Raven shifted herself into a less provocative and more childish pose and poked Erik on the arm. “So?” she said. “Which one was it?”  
  
Erik mumbled something.  
  
“I can’t  _hear_  you Erik,” Raven sing-songed.  
  
Erik groaned and mumbled something else. Raven just poked him again and  _this_  time Erik exploded into a mass of waving arms and furiously phrased harsh guttural German as he began to rant about Charles and just what he decided to subconsciously stuff into Erik’s head  _now._  Raven leaned back with a cat-ate-the-canary grin as she listened and pieced everything together.  
  
Apparently it was all about Loki’s jokes on his age, to his intelligence, and to the fact that  _maybe_  he wasn’t joking about his age and a whole mess of things that concluded with Charles fearing he was going senile. Or something. Raven wanted to laugh.  
  
Instead she smirked, slipped out of the room, slunk down the hall, assumed her pink and blond form, and then snuck off the base and into the dead of night. Here she met a dark haired, green eyed teenager and  _grinned_  wide and large. The teenager gave her an answering grin, one that rivaled Erik’s ‘shark’ grins.  
  
“One more week,” Raven said, “and then we can implement phase two.” The dark haired teen cackled softly and rubbed his hands together in a rather ‘evil genius’ manner.  
  
“Excellent,” he hissed in a dark and sibilant tone.  
  
“A little less hiss,” Raven said.  
  
“Really? I thought it was rather good,” the teenager replied.  
  
“You’re getting there, Loki, you’re getting there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this? Raven and Loki are conspiring about something? Oh dear, oh my! Such horrible things await!
> 
> As a quick summization for those who don't quite realize just what I've done in this chapter.
> 
> 1: We've timeskipped ten years. Welcome future!
> 
> 2: Alex and Scott have not had their epic remeeting. Loki's most likely to blame.
> 
> 3: Loki joked about his age with the "596" to Charles, or so Charles thinks. End story is that he took it back and said he was really fourteen. I honestly have several scenes in mind but really, it was getting annoying attempting to write them out properly and still move the story along. So timeskip and after-the-fact explanations. I'll probably write the scenes out at a later date.
> 
> 4: Howard Stark and Charles Xavier had a one night stand. That somehow involves Charles projecting his thoughts on Howards ass. Charles doesn't remember, exactly. Nor does he want to. Apparently. Yeah. I just got tickled with that idea as I wrote and thought "Hey, this would be kinda funny....and would make Howard a bit like a pedophile but...dude, it'd still be funny and Charles was totally legal...ignore age difference IGNORE"
> 
> 5: Tony is five now. It's 1978. I've gone with a supposed "novelization" of the Iron Man movie age with made Tony born in '73 and '35 years old supposedly in 2008. I decided to not bother to double check the maths there.
> 
> 6: This isn't the first time Charles as gone and dumped his mental-dream night-babbling-rambling into Erik's mind. Apparently Raven gets spillover too.
> 
> 7: Somehow, somewhere, Raven and Loki met and they decided to plan and plot. Are they behind the spillover? Well, not entirely. They might've just...made it a bigger problem for Erik to ignore. You'll see...
> 
> As a side note: this is why TK should not attempt to write at 1 fucking AM after having been on a very large Dragon Age II high concerning the character Fenris and the fact that her female Rogue has now successfully romanced him. Twice. It always turns into a mess of what she believes is humor.


End file.
